


The Hand of Time: The Future Perfect Remix

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Episode: s02e13 The Last Dragonlord, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-03 17:23:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10971900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: Arthur and Merlin return with Balinor,  the only man who can save Camelot from the vengeful creature that Merlin released from the citadel's dungeons. When Balinor is injured in a bandit attack, he survives, thanks to Arthur’s skill in battle, and Merlin’s skill in healing. In the events that follow, all three men are forced to confront the past that haunts them, as they strive to overcome the threat.





	The Hand of Time: The Future Perfect Remix

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cookie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookie/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Gulf of Years](https://archiveofourown.org/works/769187) by [Cookie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookie/pseuds/Cookie). 



> This story was written as a remix of the amazing Scotscookie’s incredible story “Gulf of Years”. Cookie created a (vastly superior) alternative ending to the episode “The Last Dragonlord”. In Cookie’s story, Balinor survives, and then... *NO SPOILERS*! Go and read it! It's fantastic! 
> 
> Cookie, you have created such a tremendous range of beloved stories that I really struggled to decide on which one to remix. Apart from anything else, I really didn’t want to screw this up because I’m such a massive die-hard Cookie fan! Anyway, dear Cookie, this is for you! I do hope that you don’t hate what I’ve done. Thank you so much for generously opening up your collection of stories to this amazing fest. 
> 
> Huge thanks to my wonderful beta reader, X, who provided much-needed sound advice. Any remaining mistakes, purple prose, repetition, plot holes, or general irritations are all mine. Thank you also to the mods for your hard work in matching us, for matching me to such a fantastic author, and for keeping this wonderful fest alive.

> _"I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.”_ ― **Albert Einstein**

*

“But it is my duty to tend to his injury!” That should have been obvious, surely. It would have been Merlin’s first duty, as an apprentice surgeon, to tend to Balinor, even if he hadn’t gained his injury saving the Prince from certain death. What he couldn’t work out was why Arthur was being such an arse about it. In fact, Arthur had been hostile towards Balinor almost since the moment that they found him. All right, so Balinor was able to control the _Free AI_ , which made him a _FAI_ Master, the last of his kind. And therefore, in Uther’s and Arthur’s book, not to be trusted. But Balinor had agreed to help them, despite the danger that placed him in. 

Of course, there was another reason why Merlin was keen to ensure that Balinor's injury was dealt with. But Arthur did not yet know that Balinor was Merlin's father, and for now, at least, Merlin had no intention of telling him. 

“It is _your duty_ as _my_ manservant,” said Arthur in a furious whisper, his fingers digging so hard into Merlin’s shoulder that it made him wince. “To do whatever I say you should do. Without arguing.”

Merlin opened his mouth to protest that he was not a slave, and when had he ever done anything without arguing? Something in the grim set of Arthur’s jaw stopped him. He closed it again.

“But in this instance, for once, you may have a point. I’ll get the firewood.” Arthur released Merlin’s arm with a force that made Merlin stagger. His thunderous expression calmed into a sort of closed-lipped resentment. He stomped off into the forest, shoulders tight with indignation.

It was unfair. He had no right to look like that, broad-shouldered and heroic as he strode off, slashing angrily at the undergrowth with his sword. Even in his petulance, there was an air of indomitability about Arthur that made Merlin’s pulse quicken and his chest tighten with longing.     

“Well, would you look at that.” Balinor’s frown knotted his forehead, even as he rolled up his shirt to expose the jagged cut upon his ribs. It was bleeding freely, Merlin noted, which boded well for avoiding infection later, but would need some stitching. “A Pendragon doing something useful, for a change. It beats me why any son of mine should serve them.”

“Arthur is a good man, you’ll see.” Shaking his head, Merlin ripped open a length of sterilizing gauze from the emergency medikit Gaius had given him. “He will be a great leader. I know it.”

Given the recent influx of refugees from over the water, Gaius had been reluctant to spare one of his dwindling medikits, but Merlin was grateful that he had. These bare badlands on Camelot’s border with Essetir were swarming with people who were desperate and unscrupulous enough to try their chances at stealing from even armed groups like theirs. Refugees, outlaws who had been banished, the poor and the pitiful from all nations congregated here amid the wastelands and what was left of the scattered, centuries-old ruins left by the cataclysm. This particular bunch of brigands, although malnourished and under-equipped, had caught them unawares, and it was only Balinor’s quick action that prevented something worse from happening.

“You believe in him. But I am less certain.”  Balinor shifted his weight, wincing. “Uther betrayed me, and all my kind. Our kind, Merlin! Yours and mine! And the acorn does not fall far from the tree.”

“Stop moving!” admonished Merlin. “I know it stings, but I must sterilize the wound before I start stitching.”

Balinor hissed when Merlin wiped the wound with sterile gauze, but he made no other sound. His eyes darted around, as if seeking further dangers beyond the range of their makeshift camp.

“And Arthur is grateful,” Merlin carried on. The stench of the sterilizing fluid was sharp in his nostrils. He worked fast, methodically as he had been taught. The wound was clean and the bleeding had slowed, but the edges were a jagged, angry red. “I know it. As am I. You saved my life. Thank you. Bali—Father,” Merlin hesitated as he said the word, glancing behind himself to check that they were not overheard.

He stared at Balinor, even as he deposited the gauze into an oiled sisal bag for later incineration. A smile tugged at his lips. “It seems weird to call you that. I don’t know what it is to have a father!”

“Nor I what it is to have a son!” Balinor gripped Merlin’s shoulder, smiling at him, though pain drew harsh lines between his eyebrows. “Ha! I bet when Uther sent you to look for someone who could control the _FAI_ , he didn’t know what he had living in his own citadel! That great treacherous oaf is as blind as he is murderous!”

“What do you mean?” Curious, Merlin peered at Balinor’s face for a moment, searching for clues, then gave up and delved into the medikit, seeking sterilised sutures.

“I mean you, Merlin.” Balinor’s eyes were warm upon his back. “It’s genetic, you know. The ancients wove the ability to control the creatures known as free artificial intelligences into the DNA of our ancestors, the first _FAI_ Masters, before the cataclysm. I don’t know how. And not just that, either. You must have noticed that you have an affinity for engineered life forms?”

“Well, yes.” Merlin nodded. “I’ve always been able to call the ELF to me. I can call the pollinators, the butterflies and bees, at least. And some of the others, too. But mother told me to keep it secret. So I did, but our village always had bountiful fruit." 

The ELF had been his only friends, when he was growing up in Ealdor, a lonely boy with uncanny abilities and no father. He could feel their life force, glowing and dancing with light. He would call to them from the depths of the forests, and they would come to him, their pale wings fluttering as they bobbed and twirled amid his hands.

Others of the ELFkind, tiny, microscopic ones, were almost part of him. They reacted to his instincts. It was a talent that he had never revealed to anyone but Gaius. Sometimes they helped him to call fire. Else, they became like an extension of his self, reaching beyond his body to obey his command. Sometimes they repelled matter, and helped him to protect Arthur from attack. Gaius referred to them as his symbionts. But in his heart, Merlin called them magic.

With Gaius's tuition, Merlin's control over his magic was growing, but not yet stable enough for him to show to his father. There was much still to learn.

"But the _FAI_ are different from the ELF, surely?" he added. "The _FAI_ were manufactured, by some ancient art. But the ELF are alive.”

“Different, yes, but related,” said Balinor, shifting his weight with a grimace. “As are all living things. After the cataclysm, when the ancients crafted the ELF pollinators, and all the other ELF creatures in the ecosystem, and created the artificial intelligences to control them, they also wove special strands of DNA into our ancestors’ genetic code.” He watched Merlin carefully as he spoke, eyes glittering in the half-light of the dusk. “To help us control the _FAI_. And communicate with them.”

Communicate with the _FAI_? Merlin leaned back on his heels, taking a moment or two to work through the implications of this statement. Years ago, when he first came to Camelot, he had heard something - a voice in his head that he had dismissed as fantasy. Had that been the _FAI_   calling him? Later, when he found the place where she was incarcerated, she spoke to him out loud. He forgot about the inner voice. But what if— 

Another thought struck him. If the DNA of Balinor’s forefathers had been modified, that meant that they had been engineered. It meant that Balinor, was not just talented in healing and communicating with the _FAI_. It meant that Balinor himself… and it was genetic! Merlin, as Balinor’s son… 

“You’re saying that you… that I... I’m an ELF?” Shocked, Merlin stared at Balinor. There had been rumours, of course, when he was growing up. That some of the ancients had been related to the ELF. But like everyone else, he had dismissed them as children’s tales, and put his own unusual abilities down to some quirk of the genetic lottery.

“In a way.” Balinor grinned at him, but then he coughed and the grin turned into a grimace. His wound glistened red and oozed blood. “I prefer to think of it as being human, but with extra talents.”

“Don’t cough,” said Merlin, concern flooding through him. He needed to stick the edges of that gash together, and quickly. He half rose to his feet. “It’ll exacerbate the bleeding.”

“I’ll try.” Balinor leant back on his elbows, pain flashing across his face.

Merlin nodded and then turned back to the medikit, muttering under his breath. Sutures. Sutures. He fumbled with a box, but it contained sticking plasters. Sutures first. Where the hell were they? He and Gaius had created them together, adhesive strips that would hold the cut together while it healed.

But the suturing equipment was very much in demand. He and Gaius had struggled to keep up, of late. He was under no illusions that the bleak tide of refugees and wounded from Camelot and elsewhere would ebb any time soon. The thin ribbon of water that protected Albion from the travails of her neighbours would not do so for much longer, and the increasing amounts of horrible detritus washed up by the tides daily heralded one thing.

War would be upon them soon.

There was silence for a moment or two while he rummaged.

“Uther calls them machines," said Merlin, unclipping another compartment. “Refuses to admit that they’re alive. Other than the pollinators, they’re forbidden in Camelot, on pain of death to anyone caught attempting to summon them. I think it’s safe to say that he’s not a fan. Ah! Here they are!” 

He bent once more over the wound, pulling the jagged edges together with the sticky strips, but fretting about the possibility of infection. He had used a strong disinfectant. The sutures were kept semi-sterile by virtue of the careful packaging, but even so. If they had been alone, he would have risked calling the ELF to him. Some of the engineered life forms had the power of healing ingrained in their DNA. Gaius had told him that they secreted a healing substance that he called an antibiotic. But they were within Camelot’s borders now, and he did not want to risk Arthur seeing his eyes flash gold as he called them. Away in the forest, rustling noises indicated that Arthur was still with them. It wasn't safe

He bit his lip. When he looked up, Balinor was watching him closely.

“Why do you hesitate?” Balinor said, reading his indecision with an uncanny accuracy. “Thinking about the ELF? Why don’t you call them, boy? Show me what you can do.”

“But, Arthur.” Merlin swallowed, and glanced over his shoulder. “What if he…”

“If you don’t have the stomach for it, then I will do it myself.” Balinor’s eyes flashed gold. A few moments later, a faint hum heralded the arrival of a swarm of tiny, glowing ELF. Soon, a faint pale-blue cloud of them fluttered across the clearing, seemingly aimless, towards the makeshift camp where Balinor and Merlin sat amid the detritus of their brief battle with the bandits.

Merlin’s mouth dropped open as he watched them, mesmerised by the light, by the swirling patterns their wings drew. Hundreds of ELF fluttered down onto Balinor’s side, depositing a thin sheen of liquid upon the raw sutures. He had not seen these ELF before! They resembled tiny butterflies that radiated a warm haze of light, a gentle blue against the fading golden light of the day. Scores of them, one by one they landed, flicking their antennae, and then left. It must have been uncomfortable, but Balinor did not flinch nor cry out. Instead, he swirled his fingers in the air. His expression was thick, intent, but not pained. In response, they swarmed around the wound.

In Merlin’s mind’s eye, in the deep secret part of him that could feel the life force of these tiny creatures, their ecstatic vibrations warmed his core. He gasped, overwhelmed with the thrill of it. As a healer, this tool—no, this _relationship_ —could change everything. He leaned a little closer, watching in wonder as the tiny creatures worked. He had to learn more!

“Aye,” Balinor said, catching Merlin’s eye. “It’s a thing to see, isn’t it?”

Merlin had so many questions, he did not know where to start. He wanted to know about his mother, about the ELF, about what Balinor had been doing for the last twenty years. Had he ever wondered whether he had a son? Why had he stayed away from Ealdor? He moistened his lips, and opened his mouth.

A sudden, sharp crack warned them that Arthur had returned. Merlin leaped to his feet, his heart thumping.

“Arthur.” He tried to disguise the cold disappointment that flooded his veins. His questions would have to wait. “You’re back. Great!” But his mouth twisted when he tried to smile.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, and he glared at Merlin as he entered the camp, depositing a collection of sticks and logs upon the floor. He turned to Balinor. His eyes widened as he took in the glowing ELF that still hovered over Balinor’s wound, and his glare, already furious, deepened to a full-blown scowl. His hand went to his sword hilt.

“You dare to summon the ELF, in Camelot.” Arthur’s jaw was set in a grim line that made Merlin’s pulse race in sudden foreboding. “It is forbidden, on pain of death.”

 _Summon the ELF._ As if they were mortal enemies. With Balinor’s latest revelation, Merlin didn’t want to think about the implications of Arthur’s hatred of all things ELF. 

“I do.” Balinor’s voice was quiet and steady, and he lifted his chin in challenge. “They knew what they were doing, the ancients, crafting these creatures.”

The ELF, disturbed by the sound of their voices, fluttered away from Balinor’s side. The gash glistened wetly where they had landed. It would need binding, to preserve its sterility. Grateful of the distraction, Merlin dove into the medikit for adhesive dressings, and knelt by Balinor’s side to apply them, biting his lip to stop it from trembling. 

“Such a shame that pig-headed traitor, Pendragon, turned his back on the help that they can give us,” Balinor added.

“My father is a great man.” From the intent look of Arthur’s brow, and the way that he raised his sword towards them, pugnaciousness had won out over curiosity. Merlin’s heart sank and he half rose to his feet, preparing to defend Balinor against his friend if needed. “And you dare to summon these ELF within Camelot’s borders. These… these… _machines_!  Machines that jeopardise our very existence.”

“Your father,” spat Balinor, “is a swine!”

“You dare to call him that! Here in his realm!” Arthur raised his sword higher.

“And the ELF are as alive as you and I,” Balinor added. “If you are so keen to follow his word, perhaps you should ask him why he hates engineered life forms so. He was not so afraid to ask for our help, once.”

“ _Our_ help?” Arthur’s lip curled in distaste. “You mean that you…”

“Aye, the _FAI_ Master are engineered, in a way, Prince Arthur,” Balinor sneered. “The ancients gave us power over our cousins, the _FAI_. I am descended from ELF, and I’m proud of it.”

“They let ELF mate with humans?” Arthur looked aghast.

“Why so horrified?” Balinor laughed in his face. “Your father knows this. Ask him, Pendragon. Ask him about the technology that enabled your mother to conceive. It is his guilt and shame, his grief that has driven him to persecute us.”

“You lie!” Roaring, Arthur drew back his sword, poised to strike. “I will kill you for your slander.”

“Arthur, no!” yelled Merlin. “He’s here to help us.”

Arthur’s head turned to him for a second, a look of utter disgust in his eyes that made Merlin flinch in sudden dismay.

“He’s right! What are you going to do about it, young Pendragon?” said Balinor, with a defiant grin that had Merlin’s heart plummeting. “Kill me before I can answer the summons? Before I can control the rogue _FAI_? What of Camelot’s predicament then?”

Arthur frowned, frustration radiating from his wide shoulders, before lowering his sword minutely.

“You hate my father,” he said at last. “And yet you are coming to help us. Why?”

“Hah!” Balinor shrugged, wincing at the pain this elicited in his wounded shoulder. “Because someone that I care about asked me to.”

Arthur's eyes flicked momentarily towards Merlin. His mouth settled to a tight line. It was only a brief glance, but Merlin shivered at it's intensity, looking away, down, up, towards anything else. Which was why he noticed the way that Balinor sucked in a pained breath. Blood was starting to seep through the sutures. 

"Balinor!” Merlin knelt, concerned. A prickle of dread fizzed beneath his skin. “Don’t move yet! You’ll undo all the good work that the ELF have done.”  He resumed his task of bandaging the wound with the last of the sterile fabric in the medikit.

Arthur’s brows were knitted. He gazed at Balinor with a stormy, resentful expression that made Merlin gulp, and then turned back to glare at Merlin.

But, with an abrupt movement, he sheathed his sword.

*

The citadel of Camelot stood in a defensive position, high upon the hill, sturdy and secure against the menace of incursions from across the water. Thick walls, built painstakingly from materials gleaned from the ruins of the ancients, by the hands of generations of Camelot’s serfs, separated its citizens from marauders. But such fortifications had been meaningless against the fury of the mad, broken _FAI_.

Its distant howls rang out through the slitted window of the throne room even now. From where Merlin stood, a curl of smoke clouded the horizon. The FAI’s most recent attack had been swift but merciless. Far away, a woman keened. The sorrowful sound raised bumps upon Merlin’s skin. The guilt ate into his gut. No matter how much he told himself that he couldn't have known that she would go back on her promise, still every death, injury, and mourning parent pierced his soul. But the guilt was not his alone.

Their party, tired and footsore, stood before Uther Pendragon where he sat upon Camelot’s throne.

Uther, who had hunted the _FAI_ almost to extinction and then tethered the remaining one up beneath the castle, to rot. 

No, the guilt did not solely belong to Merlin. 

“ _FAI_ Master,” growled the King. “You heeded my command.”

“Pendragon.” Balinor’s lip curled, and someone gasped at the lack of an honorific. The scent of fear filled the air when Balinor raised his voice. “Don’t fool yourself. I came of my own free will, at the request of one that I care for, not at the command of a cowardly murderer.”

Arthur's head swivelled so that he could glare at Merlin for a split second, and then he looked away.

Merlin’s heart nearly stopped. His hands were clammy with sweat. He surreptitiously wiped them upon his breeches, hoping that no-one was watching him. Why would they, with this drama playing out before their eyes?

“How dare you.” King Uther rose to his feet, his face clouded with fury, and he stepped down towards Balinor, hand on the hilt of his sword. “You will suffer for that.”

A sudden loud rustling heralded the departure of the more faint-hearted courtiers as prudence won out over curiosity. Knowing when to avoiding the King’s capricious temper had become a sign of survival in Camelot of late.

Soon only knights remained, but the sense of peril if anything intensified.

Heart pounding, Merlin shifted on his feet, his focus split between protecting Arthur and protecting Balinor, as the King prowled around them both, his brow furrowed. He reached into his heart, pulling the power that he knew resided there. It was forbidden to use it here, but Balinor wasn’t helping himself, goading the king like that. Merlin had only just discovered that he had a father, and he did not want to lose him so soon. 

Uther’s lips narrowed to a thin line and he drew himself up to his full height. He made a striking figure despite his years, thick set, with heavy metal armour drawn around him. The leather soles of his boots echoed as he strode across the stone floor. But Balinor did not flinch, even as they stood with only a hand’s breadth separating them, glaring at one another, square-shouldered and grim-faced.

Merlin drew in a heavy breath, and opened his mouth to speak, silenced only by a gesture and a frown from Arthur.

“Father, he is here to help us,” protested Arthur, with a hand on Uther’s upper arm. “Let him do what he came to do, and then leave.”

Abruptly, Uther tore his gaze away. Glaring at Arthur, he shook off his arm. His hand was raised, and for a shocking moment Merlin thought that he was going to hit his son, but then he lowered it slowly instead.

“Come Arthur,” he said in a low growl. “We will discuss our strategy in my chambers.” He drew his scarlet cloak around him, and glanced at Merlin with a malevolence that raised the hackles on Merlin’s neck. “Alone.”

*

Merlin sat in Arthur’s chambers for hours, mind racing as he polished shoes and leather armour-work until they shone. It was clear that Arthur was ambivalent at best about the _FAI_ Master, but Merlin would not let Balinor be harmed. He would die first. And maybe with his death the needless slaughter of innocents, human and _FAI_ alike, would be avenged. For now, all he could do was wait, so he distracted himself in the only way he knew how: by doing chores for Arthur. Theirs had been a long journey, fraught with danger, and Arthur would need rest and food before tomorrow’s ordeal with the _FAI_.

Maybe, once Merlin’s duties had been done, he could go back to Gaius’s room and speak to Balinor. How had he met Merlin’s mother? Why did he have to leave? There was so much to learn, and he did not know how long Balinor would be able to stay in Camelot.

By the time Arthur returned, Merlin had also set the fire and banked it so that the room was warm and glowing by its flickering light. A plate of cold meats and cheeses sat upon Arthur’s desk, together with a single, precious apple. Needing something to do with his hands, Merlin set to whittling at a piece of wood with his knife.

When the door burst open, his knife fell clattering to the floor. He bent to pick it up, fingers fumbling and clumsy with fatigue.

“Sire?”

His heart sank when Arthur strode across to the fire without speaking and started to disrobe, flinging his boots and outerwear onto the floor with a sullen-faced pout. Arthur’s meetings with his father, never easy, had become more and more tense, of late. Clearly, this one had been particularly stressful. Merlin could tell from the tense set of Arthur’s shoulders that he was pained and uncomfortable, weary from battle and their journey, but of course Arthur would never admit that. Instead he would lash out with his tongue, using the most convenient nearby objects, which meant Merlin, as a scapegoat for his frustration.

Sighing, Merlin hurried to retrieve everything, bundling the outerwear into the basket to take down to the laundry. He waited for the outburst, while Arthur sank into the armchair in front of the fire, rolling his shoulders and warming his toes.

Once the floor was clear, Merlin stood at the door, hands behind his back. Maybe now he could make his escape?

“Shall I call for a bath?” he said. “You’re going to want to be clean. I mean, not that you stink or anything. Not more than usual, anyway. Haha. Well. I’m done, I’ll be off, then, shall I? I mean.”

“Off to tend to _Balinor_ , are you?” Arthur spat out the name as if it was that of a common criminal. His eyes were dangerously hooded beneath lowered brows, but they glistened as he spoke. “Couldn’t _wait_ to see him, could you?” 

“Erm.” Merlin bit his lip, because, well, he did have a lot of catching up to do. “No, but he's wounded, and I just…” 

“Far be it from me to get in your way,” Arthur hissed. He stood, abruptly, striding over to where Merlin stood, and eyed him.

“You’re not in my—” _Here we go,_ thought Merlin, bracing himself for the inevitable scolding, and hoping that it would be over quickly. “I mean. I just thought that he might need—”

“Spare me the excuses.” Arthur’s mouth narrowed to a thin, unhappy line. His jaw clenched, and his balled fists dug furiously into the sides of his hips. “I saw the way you were fawning over him.”

“ _Fawning_?” Merlin gaped at him. “He was injured, Arthur. He needed my hel—”

“Help is one thing.” Arthur’s nose scrunched in distaste. “Cooing over him like some sort of lovelorn puppy is another. It was quite sickening.”

“Lovelorn puppy?” Incredulous, Merlin let out a huff.

“Contrary to common belief,” Arthur went on. “I am not some monster who thinks that men should only admire women! Far from it, in fact. But your crush on this _FAI_ Master is inappropriate in the extreme. And it has to stop, no good can come of it. He is here to help us, yes, but the _FAI_ are enemies of Camelot.”

The bitterness of Arthur’s words hovered in the air between them like knives, sharp enough to sever ties of friendship that had taken years to weave.

“So that is what you think of me?” blurted Merlin. Shock and shame painted heat across his face, more potent than the effect of any fire. “You think me so disloyal? To take off on a whim with a stranger because of a passing fancy?” The accusation hurt worse than a physical blow. His breath hitched in his throat. “How long have you known me, Arthur? How many times have I risked my life for you? Have I not proved my loyalty to you, over and over again?”

“I am merely trying to protect you.” Arthur’s gaze narrowed and he crossed his arms. A flush of colour crept up his cheeks. “Very well, if you’re going to act all hurt on me. Prove me wrong! Deny it then! Deny that you prefer men!”

“What?” Merlin could not believe that they were having this conversation now. He buried his hands under his armpits to disguise the way that his fingers were trembling. Shaking his head, slowly, he swallowed, tasting salt. He looked down at the floor, fighting the tears that blurred his vision. He forced the words out, and his voice cracked. “I… I… I will not. I will not lie to you. But it’s not what you think…”

“Isn’t it?” Arthur exhaled sharply.  “For God’s sake Merlin, the man is old enough to be your father!”

Merlin was still looking at the floor, so he didn’t see the moment when Arthur realised. But he heard it. Heard the breath whistle in between Arthur’s clenched teeth. Felt his sudden stillness.

“Oh my God,” Arthur breathed. “That’s it, isn’t it!”

Straightening to his full height, Merlin lifted his head and looked Arthur squarely in the eye. He took a deep breath, pulling his shoulders back, and nodded slowly, once.

Arthur’s irises were a shocked ring of blue around a dense pool of black.

“He’s your father!” Arthur whispered. He stumbled backwards a little, under the force of Merlin’s defiant stare. “Balinor is your father! But he’s… that means…”

“Yes,” Merlin replied. “Balinor is my father. I am proud to be his son. And I…” He swallowed. “It seems that I, too, I am an ELF, at least in part. But I am no enemy of Camelot. That I swear on my life."

"But my father said..." It seemed as though the hollow, fatigued rings beneath Arthur’s eyes deepened in colour as he stepped backwards, shaking his head. "That means that you... he..."

Merlin wondered what Uther had told Arthur, during their long and evidently painful meeting. What Uther had commanded him, to make his cheeks hollow and his stricken eyes search the ceiling. But he dared not ask, and Arthur did not speak. Instead, he sank heavily into the seat beside his desk, massaging his jaw in a familiar gesture that signified deep thought. Merlin had learned to map Arthur’s expressions and minute hand movements so thoroughly that he could almost hear his thoughts. It was a human trait, but one that Merlin had honed with many years of observing. When first Merlin had come to Camelot, Arthur had been prone to long periods of brooding. At the time, Merlin simply assumed that Arthur was sulking. But eventually he came to understand that in these silences Arthur’s mind was busy, sifting through the facts at his disposal, weighing them up one by one, until he reached the core of a problem, and could make the correct judgment. It was a critical part of Arthur’s process, of his skill, one that set him apart from others, that would make him a great king. A king who would surpass his father and all who came before him.

Over these years, Arthur also perfected the art of scrutiny. His gaze, steel-blue and steady, gave away nothing of his conclusions. Many times, Merlin had seen the most hardened of petitioners quail under its weight. Never had he been subject to it himself. Its severity shocked him. He felt some sympathy with the citadel’s vermine, wide-eyed and still, quivering under the glare of Camelot’s resident cats just before they pounced. Sweat broke out and prickled on his brow as he stood, waiting under the cold fire of Arthur’s intent contemplation.

“But your mother,” Arthur said at last. “She is completely… human, isn’t she?”

“I am still the same person, Arthur,” said Merlin, quelling the tremor that threatened to crack his voice. “I am still human, the same as you and your father. I just… I have talents, Arthur. Talents that I have kept hidden my whole life, because your father… because I’m… and. Well. Now I know why.” He shrugged. “I… I… It doesn’t change who I am, nor whom I... lo— care about.”

"Talents, you say," said Arthur, softly. "Forbidden talents, no doubt. Technological talents. Abilities that might involve the ELF, I am thinking." He stared at Merlin sombrely, unblinking, his finger resting upon his bottom lip. 

"I prefer to think of it as magic," said Merlin.

"You choose to use this... technology, magic, call it what you will," said Arthur. "Knowing that it is forbidden. The sort of thing that might get you arrested. Might get you  _killed_."

"I did not choose this." Merlin lifted his chin. He was not going to hide. Not from Arthur. Not any more. "I was born with it. It chose _me_." 

He shivered under that unrelenting gaze, but refused to look away. 

  

*

Upon the battlements, they stood. Arthur, Balinor and Merlin. Gazing down upon the ruin of Camelot, the brave banner that burned in the wind. And Balinor spoke, lifting his voice to the heavens. Something in his words - in his voice stirred deep in Merlin’s gut, as if they were more than mere words. They awakened something - barely a feeling at first, but growing and swelling until it became a heavy roar in Merlin’s ears.

And something replied. Faintly, at first.

_“I hear you, Master.”_

The voice seemed familiar as the words sounded in Merlin’s head. Puzzled, he looked around him. Arthur seemed unstirred, but Balinor glanced to him.

“Do you feel her?” he said. “Do you hear her? It is your birthright, growing. Awakening.”

Dumbly, Merlin nodded, his tongue dry against the roof of your mouth. Her voice was louder than the distant whisper he had heard, years ago when first he found her under the citadel. The pain grew in intensity, making him sweat.

“Hear what?” said Arthur. His expression was stern, forbidding, as it had been ever since he had found out about Merlin’s peculiar talents, but he did not rant nor did he rage as Uther had done. Merlin supposed that should be a blessing. “I don’t hear anything.”

“The voice of the _FAI_.” Balinor lifted his chin in a silent challenge. “Only those with the talent can hear. And only those with the talent can call them. She comes.”

“It’s coming back?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted, Arthur Pendragon?” Balinor’s hollow chuckle sounded strained and incongruous against the backdrop of flames and terrible destruction.

“Can you control it?”

“Aye, she will listen to me.”

She was a pale, distant scrap at first, flitting against the sky. Indistinguishable from the other wisps of cloud, save for the direction she took. And the ever-present keening. So loud now, almost unbearable already, even though she was so far away.

“How can you bear it?” Merlin clamped his hands to his ears, but it did not make any difference. Her shrill wail sent icy tendrils of pain shooting up his spine.

“She mourns her kin.” Balinor stood unmoved, glaring accusingly at Arthur. “She has the right. His father has slaughtered them all.”

“You cannot slaughter something that is not alive!” protested Arthur.

“You still adhere to that fiction?” Balinor roared. “Gods! Of all the ignorance!”

“No.” Arthur swallowed. But he wasn’t looking at Balinor. Instead he trained his eyes upon Merlin, a sharp blue gaze that pierced him in the hollow of his gut. “No, I do not doubt her right to life. Nor yours. Not now. Besides. I am not my father.”

But Merlin couldn’t hear whatever Arthur said next. The sound grew louder. Merlin clamped his hands over his ears, against the grief and the pain. But to no avail. He folded at the waist, sinking to his knees as he hid behind the parapet

“Make it stop,” he choked. “Dear gods. Make it stop. Please. I can’t bear it.”

 _“Hush, dear one!”_ Balinor waved his hand, and the keening obediently dimmed to a more bearable hum, one that still made Merlin’s blood run cold and raised bumps upon his skin.

He freed his ears, breathing shallowly.

“I do not hear it.” said Arthur. “Her. Why is it—she—hurting Merlin, and not me?”

“Anyone can hear her when she speaks aloud. But only one with ELF blood can hear her emotions. In our minds,” said Balinor, sadly. “It was an ELF who heard her and set her free. And an ELF calls her now. ”

“An ELF freed her, you say.” Arthur sighed, gazing up at the approaching  _FAI_ , with his sword lowered and his face as rigid as hewn granite. “What sort of an evil creature would do such a thing? Would unleash such a terror on my people?”

Fear gripped Merlin then. He rubbed his hands, clammy and wet, on the fabric of his breeches, to calm their tremors. He knelt like that, between the two men who held his heart in their hands, jaw clenched with tension as their doom approached.

“One who keeps his word. One who extends compassion and honesty to a grieving creature,” said Balinor.

"You!" Realisation flashed across Arthur's face, setting his jaw into a furious line. He swivelled on his feet, raising his sword. His mouth pressed into a flat, judging line as he rounded on Merlin.

"Yes," said Merlin. He lowered his head, voice shaking to match the tremor in his shoulders. "It was me. She saved you, and I released her, as was our boon. She promised not to hurt them. She _promised!_ "

"How could you!" Arthur advanced a step, then another, until his boots filled Merlin's field of view. "My father would kill you for such treachery."

Gulping, Merlin looked up at his king. Arthur towered over him, fury written in the tense set of his limbs, the stark lines of his face. Sunlight glinted off his sword.

"Ask yourself what you would have done, Arthur?" Balinor's voice was soft, almost gentle. "Would you have shown compassion? Or would you have tricked her, as your father did years ago?" 

“How can you trick a machine? For my father says that the  _FAI_ are merely machines. Dangerous ones. And that the engineered life forms are not truly human.” Arthur’s eyes flipped lazily towards Merlin and away. “Not truly alive.”

A distant shout interrupted their discussion. The _FAI_ was nearly upon them. 

Heavy flames heralded her approach. The sound of screaming signalled that the townsfolk had noticed her. She would be upon them soon. And yet Balinor stood, patient and still, unafraid. Drawing a shaky breath, Merlin tried to still the hammering of his heart. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, eyes darting between Arthur and Balinor.

“Your father would have you believe whatever assuages his conscience,” said Balinor. 

But there was no more time for talk. The heat of the _FAI_ 's breath raised steam from the puddles upon the battlements.Her scales were white and golden, iridescent with every hue and none. Her wings extended wide across the rooftops, as wide as two men laid end to end. Her eyes whirled, red with rage and terror. And she sang, a terrible song. Her song was pain and sorrow. It made Merlin’s hackles rise and his chest ache. He shivered, despite the heat. Sweat dropped into his eyes.

_“Hush, _AI_ thusa.” _

Balinor raised a hand as the _FAI_ settled, her great claws scrabbling on the stone flags of the high tower upon which they stood. She drew wings into her sides and regarded them, head tilted to one side, as an eagle examines its prey before it pounces. They locked eyes, _FAI_ Master and _FAI_ , both trembling with the force of their encounter.

Merlin held his breath. The power built within her, even as her song grew in intensity. The screams of her kin mingled in Merlin’s head with the terrified wails of her victims. The heat grew stronger, as if she was gearing up to something.

“Now I have you, Pendragon!” She screamed aloud to the heavens. Her fangs, jagged and discoloured, dripped dark with blood. The fire building in her throat was a thousand needles, jabbing into Merlin’s head. “With your death, I will be avenged.”

Balinor waved his hand, casting a protective net of blue light that draped over him, expanding out to cover Merlin and Arthur.

“No. It stops here,” he said calmly, out loud. He held out a hand towards her thick muzzle, and swirled it in an arc. Her face followed his hand. “You will not hurt them.” He lowered his hand and the mesh of light winked out.

The citadel paused, as if holding its breath, silent, for one heartbeat. Two. Three. The _FAI_ drew in a breath.

Unable to stand still for another second, Merlin stepped forward. 

"You promised!" he said, hurling all his anger and guilt and pain into his voice so that she turned her great head towards him and hissed. "You _promised!_ "

“I will not hurt him.” She sighed, and the flames retreated. “Well met, Master,” said the _FAI_ , bowing her knee. Awaiting her fate.

“You’ve had a horrible time, old thing.” Balinor raised his hand again, and she hesitated, but then ducked forward so that he could scratch behind her ear. “I won’t let that coward imprison you again.”

“My father is no coward!” protested Arthur, taking a step forward.

“That may once have been true.” Balinor’s mouth twisted. “The time was that Uther would have stood here with me, and faced the wrath of our enemies with me and a host of _FAI_ by his side. But he is not the man that he once was. Grief and pain have turned him against those who once stood with him, as allies.”

“He stood beside you?” blurted Merlin.

“Aye.” Balinor chuckled. His breath was a ghost upon the breeze. “We were allies once, pitted together, against the menace that crept over the water, threatening Albion’s shores. ELF and Human. Partners. _FAI_ Master and King, or Queen. For generations, since the first _FAI_ drew breath. The _FAI_ Master line remains unbroken – parent to child – generation after generation. We stood shoulder to shoulder with the Pendragons. It was meant to be so. It has been so, until Uther broke the ties, the bonds of friendship, and betrayed our kind.”

“What do you mean, _FAI_ Master,” Arthur glanced at Merlin, then abruptly away. “What do you mean, _it was meant to be so_?”

“The ancients designed it that way. To protect Albion, after the cataclysm.” Balinor shrugged. “The Kings and Queens of Camelot lead. And the _FAI_ Master follow, with all the might of the _FAI_ alongside them. Our line is bonded to yours. Fated to be companions until either line ends, it shall remain so.”

“Bonded?” Arthur pursed his lips, contemplating.

Merlin held his breath. What would his judgment be?

“Aye. And together, they could rule, again.” Balinor stared at Arthur, a challenge knitted into the heavy jut of his jaw. “If you, young Pendragon, have the courage to make it so.”

But Arthur was not looking at Balinor. Not any more.

“Now I see you.” Arthur spoke so quietly that Merlin was not sure if any but he could hear. “ _Now_ I see you.” There was a flash of blue as he regarded Merlin from beneath the heavy veil of his brows. 

Merlin held his gaze, hope warring with terror as his secrets were laid bare before his prince. His heart railed against the bars of his ribcage like a caged beast. He bit back his words. When Arthur’s eyes dropped to his lips, Merlin pressed them together to stop them from trembling. He thought of all that they could be, together, and the hope that ignited in his belly flared hotter than _AI_ thusa's flame.

Arthur slowly inclined his head, lifting one corner of his mouth. The tiny movement barely hinted at his judgment, but it was enough. It was more than enough. It was everything. 

The sheer joy that blazed through Merlin’s chest could have ignited the sun. It burst out of him in a sharp exhale. He smiled. Arthur’s returning smile was a faint quirk of the mouth, a glimmer that was gone in a flash as he turned back to Balinor.

Merlin’s father. Balinor, the ELF. Last of the _FAI_ Masters. The man who had saved them all from the wrath of the grieving  _FAI_.

Arthur’s expression settled into a solemn mask.

“My father orders you to destroy the _FAI_ ,” said Arthur, grimly. “The King says that the _FAI_   are evil machines that threaten all human life and they must be destroyed.”

“I’ll destroy Camelot first!” said _AI_ thusa, last of the _FAI_ , out loud. A heavy sound rumbled deep in her throat and she stood up on her hindlegs, wings flapping frantically in her distress.

 _They will never harm you, my sweet, not while I breathe!_ Balinor’s voice sounded in Merlin’s head, as he held out a hand towards the beast, which settled again upon the high parapet, her scales glowing molten orange-gold with inner anguish. Balinor’s caressed _AI_ thusa’s head. Her scales dimmed to a more contented pale blue-green. _We are kin. My son freed you and I will protect you._

“The _FAI_ were alive, little prince.” said Balinor. “The _Free AIs_ may have been created by humans, at first, but they were alive. By any criterion. They grew, laughed, ate, wept, bled, sweated, bore children and died like us. They were unique, and beautiful. Maybe, away in the distant past, their ancestors had been mere lines of code. Just as you, everything that you are, start life as mere strands of DNA in an egg. But they were alive, and your father, your father, he understood this, once. When he asked for their help, when your mother could not conceive, they gave it freely.”

“So I understand.” Arthur swallowed, thickly, staring down at his feet. He looked suddenly very young.

Merlin grasped Arthur’s shoulder without thinking

Arthur flashed him a grateful glance. He  covered Merlin’s hand with his own.

“But that is not all,” he went on. “Once the beast—”

“My name is _AI_ thusa,” said the _FAI_. 

“Once _AI_ thusa is dead,” said Arthur, nodding in acknowledgment. “Then I am ordered to kill you, _FAI_ Master. You and all your kin. The king says you are an ELF, an abomination, wrought by the ancients in error, and a threat that must be eliminated.”

“I’d like to see you try,” said Balinor, squaring his shoulders. He shifted to stand with his legs apart and his back to _AI_ thusa, who glared at Arthur through whirling, molten-gold eyes.

“Arthur would never do such a thing!” said Merlin, hotly. “Arthur is a man of honour. He would never reward one who has saved Camelot in such a cowardly way.”

Arthur raised a finger, but a ghost of a smile flickered upon his mouth. Merlin subsided.

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Balinor said. “Uther is a pig-headed luddite who wants nothing more than to catapult us back into the Dark Ages. I knew he would have me murdered as soon as I had done his bidding. The question is whether his son is merely his puppet, or whether he has a mind of his own.”

“Hah!” Arthur snorted. “I see now where Merlin got his flair for creative insults.” He stepped forward, footsteps tapping on the flags, until he was facing Balinor. “It is true that some things are passed down from father to son,” he added in a low voice. “Like the ability to craft insults, or some strand of DNA whose origin is lost in the past, inserted into an egg by the ancients. Bringing with it terrible gifts, of magic, or technology, call it what you will. But there is one thing you need to remember about me.”

“What’s that, young Pendragon,” said Balinor, taking a menacing step forward.

Merlin’s mouth dropped open in realization of what could happen next. It was written in the cold line of Balinor’s brow, the stubborn set of Arthur’s jaw. The men were squaring up for a fight. What the prize might be, Merlin could only guess. But he would not stand aside and let this happen. There could be no winners from such a contest, and Merlin stood only to lose. The warm flood of magic flushed and surged beneath Merlin’s skin and he stretched out his hand, ready to call it to him, to place a barrier between them. And the Gods forgive him, it was not his father that he would be protecting.

The realization hit him like an arrow tipped with fear.

Who was Balinor to him? The father that he had never known. No, he had to protect Arthur. It had always been Arthur. And it always would be.

“I may be my father’s son,” said Arthur, voice pitched low. “But I am also my mother’s.”

His sword was still unsheathed, and he casually ran one finger along it. The weapon glinted in the sunlight, iridescent, forged by the ancients from some material that was stronger than steel, sharper than sorrow. Arthur stood, straight and commanding, unfairly regal.

Merlin swallowed, and lowered his gaze for a second, dazzled. 

“Well said, young Pendragon.” Balinor chuckled, the sound incongruous. “So, what are we to do now?”

“I am not yet King.” Arthur’s jaw jutted, firm and decisive. “But I am not a monster either. You have saved us, and spared the last of the _FAI_   from certain destruction. Camelot needs allies. War is coming, and those who continue to drive the refugees into Camelot from across the sea have no scruples about their use of technology, nor machines as weapons. Our allies must be of all kinds, and we must stand firm together.”

Pride gripped Merlin as he stared at his king, so commanding and just. He would follow this man, in the tough times that were coming. Follow him to the end of the world, and beyond.

“And what of my son?” said Balinor.

“Merlin?” A ghost of a smile twitched at the corner of Arthur’s mouth. He turned to Merlin and all signs of mirth fled. “Our lives have become intertwined already. I used to think that I was cursed, to have a clumsy manservant with no discernible talents. Over time, I grew to understand that there was something… something about him. And now?” He shook his head.

“My place is by your side,” said Merlin, standing straighter. “That has not changed.”

Far below them, a bell sounded. An alarm call sounded. Shouts drifted towards them up the stairwell. Footsteps clumped upon stone. Cold steel clanked.

“Uther has raised the alarm,” guessed Merlin. He peered over the parapet. Sure enough, far below upon the training ground, brightly dressed knights were pointing up at the battlements and forming up into ranks. “Arthur, we must move quickly, they are coming. Balinor is in danger.”

“Balinor.” Arthur grasped Balinor’s shoulder. “You must go. Find others of your kind, if you can. Gather the remnants of the _FAI,_ if there are any. I will protect you from my father and I would treat with you, when I am King, but in all conscience I cannot yet do so, for my father… my father is still King, and he will require a reckoning. I… I will speak. I will speak for you. To my father. And I… I will bear whatever consequences might arise. But you would do well to leave. And go far from here. For your own sake.”

“You shall have my pledge, I swear. But first, there is someone I need to visit. Someone I did wrong by, many years ago.” His eyes flicked over to Merlin, once, briefly. “And then we will see.”

Merlin’s heart fluttered as he realised what Balinor meant.

“You too, Merlin,” said Arthur in a voice that was closer to a growl.

“What?” Merlin stared. “What about me?”

“You must go.”

“You’re sending me away?” Merlin’s mouth dropped open. “No way!” he said, hotly. “My place is here, by your side.”

“Not forever.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “But Balinor will need someone to show him the way… and I need someone I trust to take him, and then report back to me. In a week.”

“You still trust me?” A sudden burst of joy made Merlin’s heart swell.

“Of course I do, idiot.” And by the upward tilt of one corner of Arthur’s mouth, Merlin knew it to be so.

“Well, you’ve got a funny way of showing it, you prat, sending me away!” Merlin smiled back. He couldn’t help it. The joy that bubbled up inside him had to find an outlet. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“In a week!” repeated Arthur, firmly. He sheathed his sword with a steely sound, and clasped Merlin’s shoulder with one hand. “Don’t you even dare to come back before then, or I’ll have you put in the stocks, you insubordinate bumpkin.”

“You wouldn’t last more than a day without me.” said Merlin. Arthur trusted him! He knew, he _knew_ , and yet he still trusted Merlin with a mission. Merlin thought his heart was going to burst right out of his ribcage and his smile was going to split his face wide open. “You arrogant clotpole.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Arthur grinned at him, eyes brighter than the infinite dome of the sky. “Five days and that’s my final offer, you dozy dimwit.”

“Two,” said Merlin, beaming as he gave Arthur’s shoulder a playful shove. “Dollophead.”

“Get on the bloody _FAI_ ’s back.” Arthur grabbed his shoulders and spun him round on the spot, until he was facing _AI_ thusa. Balinor was already settling on the _FAI_ ’s shoulders. Arthur gave Merlin a little push between the shoulder blades, towards the _FAI_ , so that Merlin stumbled. “Four days. Clumsy numbskull.”

“Nitwit.” Clambering up _AI_ thusa’s extended, leg, Merlin gave Arthur one final wave. “See you in three days.”

“Always have to have the last word, don’t you.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “Worst. Manservant. Ever.”

*

It was only when Merlin’s  mother opened the door and he saw the expression on her face, that he realised. He had been so caught up in giddy self-discovery, in the rush of normality that came with having a father, in his overwhelming need to be part of a complete family, that he had not thought about whether his mother might want or need a husband.

They’d knocked and rung the bell, but the silence had been long. A brief shadow behind the eyeglass indicated that she was watching them. Eventually, the scratching sound behind the door heralded the application of the chain.

“Mother!” called Merlin through the crack. “Mum? it’s me.”

“I know it’s you, Merlin, I’m not blind!” she said in a waspish voice. “What’s _he_ doing with you?” Maybe, in retrospect, it was naive to think that she would welcome Balinor with open arms.

“It’s all right, he just wants to talk!.”

“All right is it? I’ll be the judge of that.” But the door closed momentarily, and then reopened without the chain.

Hunith stood on the threshold, glaring, hands on hips, blocking their path into the house. 

“You!” Her forehead puckered and her lips pressed together in a distressed heart shape.

“Hunith!” Balinor stood, wringing his hands. “You look just the same, so beauti—”

“You haven’t changed much, either.” She huffed. “Still trying to weasel in with flattering words, where you’re not wanted. No doubt you’ll be gone as suddenly as you turned up.”

“Mum, he helped us,” said Merlin, talking very fast. “There was a  _FAI_ , and Bali— Father— he—”

“Has got a bloody cheek. Coming back here after all this time.” She sighed, her breath gusting through a stray lock of hair that fell into her eyes. She pushed it back under her headscarf. “After leaving without so much as a word.”

“It was safer for you,” said Balinor. “I left what funds I could, but Pendragon was on my tail. Hunith, please—”

“You are in danger, Balinor.” Her voice was slightly warmer, but still dangerous, and her eyes narrowed. “You should not be here.”

“Hunith. Forgive me, please. If I’d known…” said Balinor, his eyebrows domed in an earnest, pleading upside-down v-shape. “I did not know… you bore a… you were.. And I had a son. I had no idea!”

“You made no effort to find out,” she said, voice trembling and low. Her frown deepened and she folded her arms close to her chest. “You good-for-nothing, flighty, louche bastard. Begging your pardon, Merlin. You abandoned _me_. It is no comfort to me that you would have stayed for a son.”

The hurt in her voice made Merlin's chest ache, because it was all his fault. Bringing Balinor here had been a massive mistake. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologise, to say anything that would ease her pain, but she interrupted him.

“You have no idea how hard it was for me, alone, with a boy who was at least half ELF! But I managed. I managed then, and I am managing now. Alone. I have built a life for myself.  I had no need of you when he was small, and I have no need of you now. Go away.” 

Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to hug her and tell Balinor to go away and never to hurt her again. Yet Balinor had saved him and Arthur, had saved Camelot. He owed it to Balinor the man to give him the space to plead his case.

“Mother.” Merlin stepped forward. “Mother, will you not just let him have a chance to explain? Mother, please.”

A silvery sheen coated Hunith’s eyes and her throat worked. Merlin held his breath, his own vision starting to blur.

“Please,” Balinor added. “Just - let us in. To talk.”

“Talk, if you must,” she said in a choked-off voice, but she opened the door a little wider. “You always did like the sound of your own voice. But then go.”

Without another word, Balinor stepped over the threshold.

Merlin paused to hug his mother on the way through the doorway. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Her body seemed to have shrunk. He hugged her a little tighter, her ribs feeling so tiny and fragile beneath his fingers.

“It’s all right,” she replied. “Just— just come and visit me a bit more often, Merlin. It’s been over a year. Or at least, send word, if you can.”

“Yes, Mum.”

“I didn’t know whether you were alive or dead.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, resting his chin on the top of her head, and wondering how long was it since she had been able to do the same to him.

“And next time,” she added waspishly, “don’t bring _him_ along.”

“No, Mum.”

*

“ _AI_ thusa is coming!” Merlin’s face cracked into a wide grin. He could scarcely believe that it had worked on only the third try. “I can see her in my mind!”

“She’s nearly here!” said his mother, from where she stood at Merlin’s side. “There’s something— up there!”

“Your meditation practice has helped you,” said Balinor, approvingly as Merlin’s eyes flicked open, and they beheld the distant _FAI_ circling towards them. “Gaius is a good teacher.”

“Of course he is,” said Hunith at once. “He’s my great-uncle, after all.”

“Yes, yes, dear Hunith.” Balinor sent Merlin a crooked grin, and winked. “All the members of your family are supremely talented in every way. As well they might be, being related to the kindest, most intelligent woman in all Albion.”

“Hmm. Don’t you forget it.” The narrow line of Hunith’s mouth relaxed minutely. It was the expression that she had borne when, after Merlin had transgressed as a child, his grovelling was approaching a high enough level of ridiculousness to make her laugh. “Overbearing oaf.”

“I am, aren’t I?” said Balinor, with a mock-contrite voice that did not fool Merlin one bit. “Whereas you are the most beautiful, noble-hearted—”

“Don’t push it, Balinor.” There! Her lips definitely twitched.

There was no doubt about it. Through sheer persistence, Balinor was winning her over. She would make him suffer, first, of course. He had twenty years of neglect—albeit enforced—to make up for. But she would cave in, eventually.

“I’m sorry, Hunith, I am only saying what I see,” said Balinor earnestly.

Merlin rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to groan out loud. He had only been able to tolerate a couple of days of his parents tiptoeing around one another. It had become abundantly clear, to him if not to Balinor, where things were going to end up. At first he had hardly dared hope, but now that it seemed that they might be reconciled it was almost unbearably embarrassing to watch. Merlin needed to get out of there. Which is why he now found himself standing in a clearing, a couple of miles distant, flexing his new-found ability to communicate with the _FAI_.

Besides which, this was not his place. Not any more. Ever since he’d arrived in Ealdor, his dreams had been haunted by images of red, gold and blue. The scarlet of Arthur’s cloak, the gold of the fine hair that crowned him, the startling blue of Arthur’s steady gaze. These were the things that he craved, the siren call that summoned him home. His place was not here.

His place was by Arthur’s side. Always.

*

“You’re back, then.” Arthur didn’t even turn to check who had entered the room, and at any other time Merlin would have admonished him for that. Not today, though! Not when the delight at simply seeing Arthur thrilled Merlin’s heart, making him smile until he thought his face might split in two. 

“I know you can’t manage without me.” Uncertainty rooted him to the spot where he stood in the doorway to Arthur’s rooms. He’d had time to think, in his absence, about what he wanted. About where he wanted to be. He knew that there could be only one answer. But what about Arthur? What did he want?

Merlin would accept whatever judgment Arthur gave him. Arthur had been brought up to mistrust the ELF and destroy them wherever they were found. To destroy the _FAI_ , as dangerous machines, remnants of an obsolete technology. Maybe he had decided, in Merlin’s absence, to follow his father’s chosen path. What would he do with Merlin now? Would Arthur send him away? Or keep him by his side, at arm’s length? Would he let his father’s hatred and distrust win out over their long-established friendship? It was Arthur’s choice, and Merlin trusted him to do whatever he thought was best for Camelot. But Merlin had to know.

Arthur turned, his answering half-smile pushing his eyes into delighted almond-shapes, a joyful expression that Merlin had not seen often enough, of late. With that all the last vestiges of uncertainty melted away, and hope flooded through him. Arthur was glad to see him. Arthur knew. He knew everything about Merlin, and accepted him. It was going to be all right. Merlin couldn’t help it. The happiness that surged within him overwhelmed all his defenses. He crossed the distance between them with swift, certain strides, grasping Arthur’s shoulders and folding him into a hug that spoke of all his longing, his long-buried feelings. 

“As if I couldn’t manage without a cheeky, half-witted bumpkin like you!” Arthur’s breath was soft against Merlin’s cheek, but his arms tightened around Merlin’s back and he pulled him in close, warm and strong.

“I expect you were falling to pieces,” said Merlin in a choked off voice, clutching at Arthur’s soft, white shirt with helpless, needy fists.

“Not exactly,” said Arthur, with a huff of laughter that gusted in Merlin’s hair, making the skin on Merlin’s neck prickle deliciously. “But… I’ll never admit this in public, of course… I did miss you. A bit.”

“Of course you did.” Merlin broke their embrace, holding Arthur’s shoulders so that he could gaze at Arthur’s face, so near and so impossibly dear. “That’s why my place is by your side. Always. And I pledge myself to you,” Merlin bowed his head. “All that I am, all that I have, are yours. My prince.” He tilted his head up and locked his eyes onto Arthur’s. Arthur’s eyes. His steely blue, hawk-like regard. Affectionate. Measured.

The eyes of a judge. Of a.... 

“My King,” he added, in awe. A playful gust of wind entered through the open window. It took Arthur’s fine gold hair and raised it in wisps above his head, like a crown.

“And I… I accept your pledge.” Arthur laid a gentle kiss upon Merlin’s forehead. He pulled back, eyes widening, a startled expression upon his face, as if wondering what he had just done. Then he brought up a hand to cup Merlin’s cheek, warm and solid, but gentle like a caress. He tilted his head, touching his own lips with the forefinger of his other hand. In a heartbeat, everything changed.

“Oh, Arthur!” Merlin surged forward, pressing his lips to Arthur’s, fervent and sure. No more tentativeness. No more uncertainty. No more human, nor ELF. Just the heat of the here and now, two bodies, two friends, pledged to one another. Always.

Taking the helpless noises that Arthur made as encouragement, Merlin deepened the kiss, laying his hands flat upon the strong muscles of Arthur’s back. They flexed beneath his fingers as Arthur pulled Merlin in tighter, ever tighter, as if not wanting to release him from his hold. Merlin relaxed into the warmth, hyper-aware of the places where their bodies touched - thigh to thigh, chest to chest, hip to hip. Arthur’s lips were moist upon his, and surprisingly soft. The sensation of merging made him tremble, as a deep-seated desire rushed up through his limbs, spilling into his chest, filling him with a longing so intense that it made him gasp against Arthur’s mouth.

“You’re wobbling like one of cook’s jellies.” Arthur pulled away. Cold disappointment flooded through Merlin for a moment. It was replaced by a sudden thrill of anticipation as Arthur, grinning, grabbed him and manhandled him towards his bed, casting him down upon it as if he was a rag doll.

“I am not!” protested Merlin, even as he landed upon the soft covers and pulled Arthur down onto him.

“You are!” Arthur growled, sliding his hands up beneath Merlin’s undershirt, along the bare skin of his chest, slipping the thin fabric away to map the contours of Merlin’s body with his mouth. “We can’t have that.” 

“You’re the one wobbling,” protested Merlin, even as he spun round to fumble with the ties on Arthur’s breeches. “Why did you wear these? They’re an absolute pig to get off…”

“Princes don’t wobble.” Arthur prised Merlin’s neckerchief away, exposing his neck so that he shivered from the sudden cool air. “And these are my most comfortable breeches, you insolent peasant.”

The frantic scramble of limbs and fingers, of heat and sensation drove Merlin to places he had never imagined, with the thrill of Arthur’s mouth upon him, of Arthur in and around and over him, pushing, pulling. The years of pent-up feeling spilled over in no time, leaving both men panting and sated, staring at the bald ceiling of Arthur’s bedroom with their chests heaving and delight weaving their hands tight together

“Later,” said Arthur, laughter deep in his chest rumbling against the flat of Merlin’s left palm. “Later, we’re going to do that again. Without arguing.”

“Since when have I ever done anything without arguing?” said Merlin, pressing his grinning mouth to Arthur’s ribs.

*

Later, sated and drowsy, Merlin idly traced the lines of down that peppered the firm muscles of Arthur’s chest.

“I spoke to my father, you know,” said Arthur, gazing up at nothing, eyes unfocused. “I don’t think I exactly won him over! He demanded that I go after Balinor, until I pointed out that we could not track the _FAI_   without a _FAI_ Master of our own... He must never know that you... that Balinor... I dread to think what he would—”

“Don’t worry about me, Arthur.” Merlin slid his hand around Arthur’s side, revelling in the heat of his skin. “I’m stronger than I look.”

Dappled sunlight streamed in through the window of Arthur’s bedchamber, bathing Arthur in a golden glow that accentuated his sculpted features. Merlin watched for a moment, mesmerised. The realisation that this was his, for now, made his breath hitch and his heart swell. But war was coming. Such moments were all too fleeting, in times like these. All the more reason to relish them. Fine, rose-gold hairs curled around Merlin’s fingers. Tethering him to Arthur. He wished he could remain there forever.

“But you are in danger, here.” Arthur’s voice made his chest rumble beneath Merlin’s fingers. “Not all the court is loyal to me. If there should be so much as a hint of a rumour... I hate to ask it of you, Merlin, after all that you have been through over the years, but you, your powers, your background, must remain hidden, for now.”

“I know.” Merlin sighed. It would be easier than it had been to hide his growing talents, now that Arthur accepted them. He would keep to the shadows, for now, but something told him that this would not be possible for long. Especially as the deepening shadows of war darkened the horizon, and his powers - to heal, to protect -  became ever more needed. For the time being, he would remain hidden, and do what he could for the people, without being detected. At least until Uther either relinquished his own power entirely, or put an end to everything.

If it was what Arthur needed him to do, then that would be what he would do. There was no other choice.

“Anyway,” he added, fumbling for the right words to reassure Arthur. “I saw the way the courtiers looked to you in council, today. Your father yelled at everyone, barked out his pronouncements and swept out of the room. And then all their fearful eyes turned to you for guidance.”

"I saw it." Arthur’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I do not want my people to fear me.” 

“They do not fear you, Arthur. They trust you. I saw it. Lady Morgana turned to you, before opening her mouth. Even Sir Leon asked for your approval of his insights. Every head around that table was turned to yours, Arthur. Every decision was approved by you. And do you know why? Because they know what I know!”

“What is that, exactly?” Arthur’s mouth quirked, but his eyes remained serious.

Merlin shrugged. “The fact is that the _FAI_ is gone. And it was not the king who banished it.”

He paused, not sure whether he should go on. Arthur was a born leader, a king, quick to command, sound of judgment. But above all, he was a man who loved his father.

“What do you mean?” said Arthur.

“Well. In truth…” Merlin shrugged. “It has been a long time since Uther commanded this citadel. Warriors, merchants, craftsmen and women, artisans alike. They watch him, in fear. They circle arond him. But when it comes to a judgment... they look to you. I have seen it with my own eyes. You lead Camelot, in all but name, Arthur. Wherever you lead, Camelot will follow.” 

“At the moment, from the dire news that lands daily on Albion’s shores, the only place where I will be leading them is to war.”

“If that is what it takes to protect Camelot, then that is what you will do.”

“And what of you, great _FAI_ Master?” Arthur’s voice was grave, although his words were mocking. “Where will you be, as I lead these people in battle?”

“Me?” Merlin grinned. “I will be at your side, of course. Where I belong.”

*END*


End file.
